


Hours Last Stand

by slashy (slashmyheartandhopetoporn)



Series: Postcards from Dearland [2]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmyheartandhopetoporn/pseuds/slashy
Summary: Tim suffer a fatal injury? Not on Raylan’s watch.A Good Friday snippet.





	Hours Last Stand

There is blood at Tim’s feet when he finally looks down. It’s strange how it seems to be coming from his own body, but the gaping wound at his stomach seems to suggest that’s exactly the source. He takes a shaky step back and stumbles in his own slickness, falling back and down against the wall of the barn.

“Raylan,” he mumbles, hearing the name come out uncertain. “Something’s wrong.”

In less than a moment, Raylan is there, and for once Tim doesn’t find himself minding the inhuman speed.

“Shit, Tim,” Raylan snaps, eyes wild. His own hands are red and covered in a matter Tim doesn’t want to think about just then, especially when Raylan presses against his stomach and hisses out, “ _Fuck!”_

“I don’t know what happened,” Tim tells him. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It sounds scared, which isn’t how he feels. He feels numb. He barely registers the pain in his abdomen until Raylan is pushing against it.

“Someone shot you, asshole. And I wasn’t fast enough.”

Tim feels a wet laugh bubble up and out of him. “It’s not your fault. Not everything’s about you, shithead.” He swallows, mouth wet with copper. “I need a hospital.”

The look in Raylan’s eyes conveys the same clarity of his words. “Honey, I don’t think we have that much time.”

“Then you better hurry, because I sure as shit ain’t dying here.”

Raylan shakes his head. “You’re not dying at all.”

Tim still has the strength to scowl, even as he gulps. “You get a medical degree when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, I did not,” answers Raylan. “But I have other means.”

It takes Tim’s mind a moment to catch up with his eyes as he watches Raylan bring his own wrist up to his mouth and bite into the already bloodied flesh.

“Raylan Givens, don’t you fucking dare,” he snaps, starting to struggle against the weight at his middle. “I’ll fucking kill you, Raylan.

But Raylan brings his bloodied wrist to Tim’s mouth, undeterred. “It won’t turn you, _I_ _won’t turn you._ ”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Tim spits again, thrashing his head from side to side. “I don’t want it in me!”

But Raylan is stronger than Tim on a good day, and certainly stronger than a Tim who’s bleeding out all over the dusty floor of a decrepit old barn. Tim feels his head forcibly stilled. The wet skin of Raylan’s wrist wriggling against his tight-lipped mouth, trying to force an entrance.

Raylan doesn’t go so far as to plug Tim’s nose, but the press of Raylan’s wrist on his lips and against his teeth becomes too much, and he has to move them. Raylan seizes his opportunity, and before Tim knows it, there is a sweet, salty warmth flowing in his mouth. It tastes like some unholy combination of whiskey and chocolate, and once the taste lands on his tongue, he can’t keep himself from imbibing. He’s lost.

Raylan doesn’t say sorry. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look torn about the whole thing. He watches Tim drink and seems nothing but satisfied. Maybe even a little relieved.

Tim raises his hand against Raylan’s chest, feebly, half-heartedly. He leaves bloody streaks against the blue and white plaid. All-American. But the suck of his tongue against the pin-pricks flowing freely into his waiting mouth say all there is to say.

The only thing that makes Tim stop is the slow vignetting in his eyes, the blackness creeping further into his vision, blurring the view until that's all there is. And then there’s nothing, and that feels all right too.

Tim wakes up in an unfamiliar bed. He feels hot and clammy, despite only wearing a pair of clean boxers and being tucked under a thin sheet. There is a heat at his back, though, long and almost uncomfortably warm, and it wraps around his chest holding him in place. He looks down at the unsullied hand branding his chest with sweat, and knows who is with him.

“Raylan,” he says, voice hoarse.

The hand at his chest shifts as Raylan comes to. “You okay?” Raylan’s voice is thick with sleep. He must be exhausted if he’s actually let himself drift.

“I’m hot,” Tim mumbles, trying to turn to face Raylan, but the ache in his stomach gives him pause.

“Go slow,” Raylan says, using an arm to push himself upright. The air cools the space where Raylan’s body used to be.

“I barely moved,” says Tim, too out of it to be properly irritated by the coddling. “Just trying to get a look at you.”

“Well, be careful. You’re about healed, but it’ll still smart.”

Tim hears the words _about healed_ and remembers the last thing that happened before be blacked out. Namely: bleeding out and drinking Raylan’s blood. He takes account of the most important part first--his wounded belly. Except, when he looks down at his abdomen, there is no injury. The skin across is stomach is pink and shining, but there is no puncture, no blood. Just freshly healed flesh.

Then he processed how exactly his body came to be in such good shape.

“Why aren’t I angrier about what you did?” he asks, confused.

“Oh,” Raylan replies, “I’m sure it’ll come. You’re a bit high at the moment.”

“Why?”

“Vamp blood has that effect on people.”

“Oh, right.” Tim knew that. He’s pretty sure he did, anyway. But of all the substances Tim’s put in his body before, vamp blood has never been one of them. He didn’t know it could feel quite this good. This mellow. He’s never felt this relaxed before in his entire life. “This is better than dope.”

Raylan smiles. “Don’t let Loretta hear you say that.”

Finally Tim takes in the room where he’s been sleeping. “That where we are?”

“It is. And she’s been a very generous host.”

“How long’s it been?” It looks like dusk when Tim looks out the window, but he’s too foggy to be sure.

Raylan checks his watch. “About sixteen hours.”

Tim feels a jolt and damn near chokes on his own spit. “I’ve been out for _sixteen hours_?”

“You needed sleep.”

Tim wants to deny that no one needs that much sleep, but he already feels himself drifting again, drained from his moment of excitement. He lies back against the bed. “I don't feel myself right now.”

Raylan settles next to him again. “Give it time. You’ll be right as rain and back to bitching me out again in no time.”

“I’m alive because of you,” Tim says, voice fading, sounding far away.

Raylan sighs. “I’m not exactly sure you’ll be thanking me for that later.” 

Tim barely hears him, halfway to dreamland already. He takes Raylan’s hand and puts it back on his chest, then he pulls up the sheet once more.

“We’ll see,” he says, eyes heavier than he’s ever felt before. 

Still, he thinks he hears Raylan snort beside him.

“That we will.”


End file.
